She Paints Me Blue
by missautonomy
Summary: AU/Future. Brittany and Santana are living together and in love. One evening, Brittany comes home to find Santana waiting for her with a surprise. One-shot. Simple, cute, fluffy, smutty. R&R!


_**AU: hey everyone. first brittana fic for me… ever, haha. so be gentle. this one-shot is just one piece of a very large whole, conceptualized and blurbed but not written out in it's entirety (at least not with brittana… tehe). so yea. do enjoy! xo**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing Glee related, yada yada.**_

Teaching kids to dance had never been her ultimate goal, but Brittany believed that everything happened for a reason. She'd tried New York. _Really_ tried to make her oldest and most fanciful dreams come true. Her mother had recognized the talent when the blonde was merely three years of age, and by the time Brittany was six, she knew she wouldn't be happy unless she was dancing. She took whatever lessons she could get her hopping little feet into. Ballet, jazz, tap, freestyle. She loved all of it, but was exceptionally prone to freestyle – although her mother always influenced the young dancer to focus primarily on ballet. Cheerleading started in seventh grade, at which time Brittany had dropped paid lessons in everything _but_ ballet, and with high school came even more opportunities to express her body through movement with Dance Team and Glee Club. After graduation, Brittany bid her parents a tearful goodbye at the airport and flew herself to New York, where all the best dance companies were just waiting. Waiting for the best. Waiting for _her_.

Sadly, the blonde would never be asked to join a company. No scout would ever look at her and think, _We need her_. She'd come close, of course, and Brittany would never look back and feel regret. She would only smile, and remember fondly the friends she'd made and the opportunities and experiences she'd never forget. A shattered ankle ruined her career, but the bubbly blonde refused to let it ruin her life. Seven months, and her adventures in New York came to an abrupt halt due to one bad landing. Seven months, and she found herself moving out of her studio apartment and moving in with an aunt who lived in Connecticut. An aunt who lived alone, save for two frogs, a Chia pet, and a cat named Marvin. It was only temporary. A place to call home while Brittany attempted to figure things out and get back on her feet. Literally.

A mildly dark cloud followed her around New Haven for a little while after. Friends of Brittany Pierce had always described the naïve – and often ditzy – blonde as nothing less than the brightest ray of sunshine. Always smiling. Never angry or hateful. She was the easiest person in the world to fall in love with and the hardest person in the world to bring down. But in the months following her accident, Brittany struggled to live up to these words. She was off her feet for weeks and it weighed heavily on the blonde to be so inactive. She watched, helpless and horrified, as her body lost weight and the muscles she'd spent years perfecting began to lose tone. Even after she was told she could start walking again, she wasn't allowed to dance. _Wasn't allowed to dance_. It was like adding insult to injury. Punishment to accident. Her dreams had been shattered; she'd never be a professional dancer. Now she was being told she _wasn't allowed to dance_. That day, the cloud above her head grew just the slightest bit darker.

For a little while, Marvin served as the blonde's best friend. Their conversations ran the longest and the deepest. Brittany often wished to be left alone, but was always pleased to share company with the cat she'd grown to love so dearly. It was unusual, really. The one thing she'd never lacked in her life was friends, but considering she could barely walk, the blonde couldn't really find it in her heart to socialize much, either. But just like after all storms, Brittany's skies eventually began to clear. By pure happenstance, she bumped into a young man – quite literally – on the street one day while out for a slow jog. He was tall and Asian and offered Brittany the kindest of smiles as he reached down to pull the blonde from the gutter where she'd fallen. He introduced himself as Mike and insisted on buying the girl a coffee as an apology for flooring her – a phrase which had Brittany both accepting and giggling brightly.

It was Mike who introduced Brittany to the dance studio that she now considered her second home here in New Haven. The dance studio that brought her back to life. The dance studio that was now her place of work. In the mornings and afternoons, Brittany, Mike, and Matt taught children from the ages of four to thirteen how to dance. In the evenings, the three danced just for them. No, it wasn't the plan. It wasn't the dream. But it was perfect. And Brittany would never let go of her belief that everything happened for a reason.

If she hadn't broken her ankle, she never would have left New York.

If she hadn't left New York, she never would have reconnected with Santana Lopez.

They'd been friends in high school, back in Ohio where everything and everyone felt like a lifetime away. Santana had been a year ahead of her in school and also on the cheerleading squad. Brittany had always admired the Latina in a way she hadn't quite understood, at least not until later. Santana was one of those people she sometimes thought about after moving to New York. Sometimes pondered what the brunette had done after graduating, where she was and whether or not she was happy.

It was Santana who found Brittany after all these years, shockingly enough. Brittany had been living in her new apartment for a couple years when she heard about the new tenant moving in upstairs. They met in the elevator by accident. Santana had been accepted to Yale Law as a graduate student. Later that week, while helping the Latina move in, their lips touched for the first time amongst the scattered boxes of belongings and pizza. That was about the same time Brittany decided that, yes, everything happened for a reason.

Teaching kids to dance had never been her ultimate goal, but at this exact moment in time, Brittany Susan Pierce couldn't have been happier.

She'd just finished with Mike and Matt, her two best friends and frequent double-date partners, and was now rummaging through her dance bag for her keys. The lit button on the elevator read not seven, but eight. Santana's floor. It was strange how she seemed to be spending more time at her girlfriend's apartment than her own these days. Strange, but completely welcome. Her leggings felt as though they were sticking to her moist legs, uncomfortably so, and she'd long since stripped herself of her shirt. She didn't have to worry about making Mike and Matt uncomfortable, considering they stared at each other more than her, and she was more than confident that Santana wouldn't mind her showing up in just her bright blue sports bra.

Key found. Lock opened. Brittany swung the door open immediately, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. But there were only two thoughts in her often vacant mind right now.

_Shower_ and _Santana._

She particularly enjoyed the idea of them both at the same time.

"San?" she called out, stepping through the wide open door, half expecting her girlfriend to be waiting there in the foyer, half naked and ready for some sweet lady kisses.

Pink lips parted to say her name again, but the sound of a low grumble halted her voice in her throat and Brittany quickly spun on her heels. The front door began to move on its own accord, squeaking on its hinges and Brittany jumped back, mildly startled but mystified at the same time that their door had suddenly come alive.

She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when the door swung closed and revealed her girlfriend pressed against the wall behind it, looking a little miffed.

"Santana!" Brittany exclaimed jubilantly, dropping her dance bag to the floor with a plop and preparing her body to lunge forward.

She stopped abruptly when a small, tan hand shot up, causing the expression on the blonde's face to fall noticeably.

"Must you open the door with such enthusiasm?" the Latina asked indignantly, taking that same hand and grabbing at her opposite elbow, a somewhat pained expression on her pretty face.

"Oh my god, San, did I hit you?" Brittany suddenly lurched at the realization, surging forward and cupping Santana's face between her pale hands. "I didn't know you were there. What were you thinking?"

Santana scoffed and rolled her eyes, but lifted both hands and wrapped them tenderly around Brittany's wrists, letting the blonde know she wasn't annoyed with _her_, per say, but with the situation.

"I wanted to scare you."

"Oh…. Well you didn't do a very good job. Although for a minute there I did think the door had co-"

The blonde's words were cut short when a pair of lips attached the firmly to her own. Brittany sank instantly into the kiss, goosebumps rising on her bare arms as Santana's slender fingers dragged down the length of them.

"Doesn't matter," Santana whispered, the smallest hint of a smirk tilting her lips up against Brittany's. She placed one more chaste kiss to pink lips before pulling away and removing herself from between the wall and her girlfriend. "Come with me. I have a surprise for you."

Brittany giggled and jumped up and down, although her celebration was cut short as Santana took her by the hand and dragged her through the dining room and into the living room. There, set up in front of the quaint little fireplace, was an easel with a blank canvas resting beautiful against it. One of their barstools sat next to it, adorned with numerous small cups of paint, a glass of water, and a single paint brush. Brittany's mouth instantly dropped into a misshapen 'o', the corners turned up in a surprised, but thoroughly delighted expression.

"You said you've been bored nights when I have classes and you're here alone," Santana explained, unable to keep the smile from crossing her own lips at the look on her girlfriend's happy face. Her small hand gave Brittany's a gentle squeeze as she tugged her closer. "So I thought this might give you something to do while I'm gone."

She could already tell by the look on Brittany's face that this was a good idea. The canvas itself had been kind of expensive, and the paint hadn't been particularly cheap either. But the happiness she saw glinting in the blue eyes she loved so much made it all worth it. No question.

"Granted, it won't be as much fun as doing _me_…"

Brittany simply couldn't contain her excitement.

"It's perfect, San!" she all but squealed, clapping her hands together before bringing them up to her chin, staring at the blank canvas with such admiration. She could already imagine what sort of colorful worlds were going to inhabit the whiteness soon. "Can I use it now?"

Shower forgotten, the blonde stepped closer and dropped her head and hands, now examining the tiny cartons of paint on the stool.

"But Britt, it's for when I'm gone. I think you're missing the point here."

Brittany failed to realize that Santana's tone suggested that they take advantage of their time together _now_, and that the blonde could play with her new treat later.

"But San," she whined, looking up at the Latina with a pout tugging at her lips. Santana could never resist the pout. She knew this to be true.

The wheels were turning. She watched as brown eyes flicked from blue, to the paints, to pink lips, then back to blue.

A single huff was released, followed by a roll of brown eyes, then a "I'll be in the bedroom reading," before the Latina turned with indignation.

Brittany's hand shot out, caught Santana's left wrist before she could take a single step. Pale fingertips pressed into sensitive flesh, that wrist she loved so goddamn much because it was Santana's greatest weakness. And only Brittany knew about it. She heard her girlfriend's breath hitch just a split second before she turned. Blue met brown and Brittany smiled warmly.

"Thank you, San." She offered the other girl's wrist a tender squeeze. "I love it."

Santana sighed, before twisting her arm and catching Brittany's hand with her own.

"And I love you." The sentiment was reflected in her affectionate gaze as she took a few seconds to just look at the young woman she felt so strongly for. Nothing else needed to be said.

Twenty minutes later found Brittany with just as much paint on her fingers and hands than had actually made it onto the canvas. After accidentally dropping the brush on the carpet, the blonde decided the bristles were ruined by the fine hairs and fuzz that clung to them and deemed the utensil unusable. Thus began the finger painting.

The swirls of color expanding across the white canvas could hardly be deemed a picture. Rather, a work of art created by a girl whose mind was as interesting and unreadable as the painting itself.

She was pressing tiny purple circles to the top of the canvas when she felt slim arms wrap around her waist, a warm body mold to her backside, and a chin drop to her shoulder. Brittany smiled despite herself.

"You're a mess."

"Isn't it pretty though?"

"It's gorgeous."

The blonde's smile only widened, her head tilting to the side slightly to rest against Santana's as her fingers moved to a particularly wide stretch of yellow and drew a heart into the center of it.

"I love you, too, by the way," she said simply, earning the sweetest of squeezes from the brunette behind her.

"Why aren't you using the brush?"

"I dropped it."

She felt Santana's head move, assumed she was looking down at the floor. Brittany only grinned wider, imaging the look on her girlfriend's face when she saw the bright blue stain that was surely seeping into the carpet.

"Good job, Picasso."

"Didn't he cut off his ear? I think I'd look funny without an ear."

"No, Britt. That was Van Gogh."

"Go where?"

"What?"

"Where did he go?"

"Never mind, babe. Not important."

"You want to paint something, San?"

Santana took a minute to answer, observing Brittany's painting and wondering what she could possibly add to make it any more perfect than it already was.

"Sure," she finally said with a certain simplicity, finally detangling herself from her girlfriend and stepping to the side. Like Brittany, she disregarded the "ruined" paint brush – which would have been perfectly fine if only the blonde had rinsed it in the water, which she noticed was completely clear, but she didn't mention it – and dipped her finger into the red paint. But instead of touching her finger to the canvas, she turned quickly and smeared the paint across Brittany's cheek, instantly laughing at the shocked look that overcame the blonde's expression.

She knew that, between the two of them, Brittany was obviously the more childish one. But that didn't mean Santana didn't have her moments.

"I'm a dancer, San. Not a canvas," Brittany stated, struggling to fight back her grin in attempt to look annoyed with her girlfriend.

"But your painting is already so pretty. I would have messed it up."

"And somehow that led to this?" she asked, pointing to her red cheek.

She watched as Santana's lips pursed together, dark eyebrows shooting up as she nodded twice.

Not another word was said. Brittany simply huffed, then licked her lips, pretending as though she was deliberating how best to proceed, even though she already knew.

Sometimes being a dancer _seriously_ had its perks.

Her movements were quick and graceful. Right index finger into the blue, left into the green, and in the next second, her hands were all over Santana's face.

Brittany smiled widely as the Latina squealed and tried to flee from her girlfriend's attack, but it was useless. Brittany's bright laughter filled the apartment and it didn't take long at all for it to be joined by Santana's. The brunette's retaliation consisted of grabbing the blue paint container, dumping the contents into the palm of her hand, then burying her wet fingers into long, blonde tendrils as Brittany tried desperately to avoid the attack.

"Looks good, Britts. You should really think about making it permanent," Santana laughed, stepping back with a smile in her deep, brown eyes.

Ten minutes later, the young women were more colorful than the Brittany's painting, both laughing and panting for breath in the aftermath of their little war. Brittany's face, shoulders, and stomach were a mess of color, while Santana's hands and arms were simply covered. They looked like a couple of kindergartners, giggling like children at the end of an accidental playtime…

Up until the moment Santana's hands grasped the blonde's waist and pulled her close, their lips coming together in a heated kiss that spoke volumes of their relationship and the passion each one felt for the other.

Brittany was quick to respond, as always. Her stained fingers lifted, tangling into a dark muss of curls to hold her girlfriend close. The paint and the war and the competition were completely forgotten, and in its wake were left nothing but two young women in love.

Santana's lips parted first, her tongue eager to taste and explore, but they never took from one another. Only gave and received with such loving fervor (except that one night that found them a little too drunk and clinging hungrily to one another against Santana's fridge). The slick muscle dragged slowly across the crease between her lover's lips, asked silently for permission to enter, which Brittany eagerly gave.

Tongues touched, tastes mixed and mingled and Brittany moaned quietly into Santana's mouth, clutching fingers pulling the Latina impossibly close just as the hands on her hips did the same.

Mint toothpaste and vanilla coffee. _Santana_. The flavor was perfect. So ridiculously perfect that Brittany didn't think she could ever kiss anyone else, not ever, because they wouldn't _taste_ like _Santana_ and their lips would never fit so perfectly with hers.

Yes, definitely. _Everything happened for a reason._

"Off," she muttered against Santana's lips, hungry hands suddenly at the hem of the Latina's shirt, tugging the fabric up and up until the brunette raised her arms over her head and her body was freed of the offending garment.

Pale hands molded themselves to Santana's stomach, fingernails pressing into tan flesh, urging familiar muscles to tighten deliciously beneath her needy touch.

"I like this whole coming-home-shirtless-thing, Britts," Santana murmured against the blonde's lips, her own fingers now teasing the elastic band at the bottom of the dancer's sports bra. "You should just never wear shirts." The Latina punctuated her words by dragging her fingertips down bare abs, groaning softly as she felt the defined muscles flex just for her.

Brittany just grinned, pleased with Santana's appreciation of the body she worked so hard for. One hand moved up to wrap around the back of her girlfriend's neck, forcing their lips closer and efficiently ending the conversation with a certain heady authority that the brunette didn't dare question.

Nimble fingers were back at her chest, teasing the underside of her covered breasts before she felt a definite tug on the elastic. She understood the wordless request and pulled her lips away from Santana's as she lifted her own arms deliberately over her head. Blue eyes, a shade darker than usual, watched brown intently, so lovingly, as the thin article of clothing was tugged up over her head and off. It was Brittany's favorite bra, but she couldn't bring herself to care in the slightest that it was most definitely going to be stained.

Her breath caught in her throat as Santana lunged, their mouths brought back together in a heated kiss while delicate hands moved instantly to explore newly exposed – and noticeably _clean_ – flesh.

"San," Brittany breathed against dark lips, lashes fluttering as Santana's hands molded to her breasts, fingers teasing and pinching pink nipples that hardened beneath the delicate, fiery touches.

Santana didn't bother reattaching their mouths, too eager to taste the dancer's skin and leave her loving marks against pale flesh. Her lips jumped the distance from Brittany's mouth to her ear, thankful for the paintless path that expanded down the column of the taller girl's neck. Teeth nipped gently at tender skin before her warm tongue soothed, showering moist kisses all the way down Brittany's neck. She paused at the pulse point, the place where neck gave way to shoulder. _Brittany's spot_. She bit into the skin a little more firmly, body erupting in flames as the blonde's gasp reverberated of the walls of her living room. Suction built in her mouth until she was sucking on the skin, eager to leave color on the blonde's flesh that was nothing like the paint already smeared all over her body.

Brown eyes opened and peered down at the younger girl's neck. Satisfied with her work, Santana moved on, lips traveling slowly and carefully across Brittany's collarbone and down the center of her chest, pressing feather light kisses to each ridge of her sternum.

"Fuck."

Brittany was already breathless, but at this her blue eyes opened and looked down curiously.

"What? What it is?"

Santana's hands were no longer covering her breasts, but Brittany could see the proof that they had been there. She couldn't help but grin, despite her arousal. The tie-dye of colors brushed against her skin, even covering the aching peaks of her breasts, looked undeniably awesome. But apparently Santana wasn't as entertained as she was.

"Now I can't kiss them."

Brittany's laugh only made Santana's frustration grow. Her pout was freakishly adorable. Santana _never_ pouted.

"Don't worry, San," Brittany spoke softly, soothingly, even though she was still mildly amused by it all. Comforting her girlfriend because she couldn't kiss her breasts… It _was_ a little funny.

"I'll learn from your mistake and kiss yours enough for the both of us."

As if to prove this, Brittany's hands quickly snaked around to the Latina's back and snapped open the clasp of her bra. There was a time when that was the most difficult thing in the world, and Brittany simply _couldn't_ do it without looking. But it was true what they said about the whole practice thing. It _did_ make perfect.

Santana's lacy black bra fell loose around her chest, and the blonde made quick work of pulling it free of her girlfriend's arms. Unable to stop herself, her hands came up between them, cupped the Latina's luscious breasts and hummed agreeably as their weight filled her hands. Brittany couldn't deny how much she freaking loved Santana's boobs. They were bigger than her own, but not too an appalling point. Just right. They were perfect.

And she would be perfectly happy kissing them enough for the both of them.

She felt Santana's fingers threaded into her hair as her pink lips dropped to tan skin. Leisurely kisses spread a warm moisture down the valley of those perfect breasts as Brittany's long arms wrapped tightly around her smaller body.

"Please, Britt."

Brittany loved that she had barely even touched her girlfriend and yet, it seemed as though she was already coming undone. Already so needy that she was bringing out her begging voice. Brittany loved the begging voice, and as delicate fingers pushed gently against her scalp, the blonde knew she could never say no.

Pink lips danced light kisses around Santana's nipple, already stiff with anticipation. Above her, she could hear the brunette's breath hitching and heightening, fingers tightening in her blonde hair. And finally, her mouth closed over the waiting bud.

Santana mewled with pleasure, groaned breathily as she was finally given what she so desperately needed, and they'd barely even started. Her head fell back slightly, messy, painted hair falling like a curtain over her back as Brittany's tongue flicked over the hardened peak of her breast. Her back arched, her slender body so willing to mold itself into its partner's and urge the blonde to touch more firmly, to take whatever the hell she wanted because Santana would give it willingly. And when pressure built around her aching nipple, she knew Brittany had listened. No words were spoken, but Brittany heard and responded so eagerly, sucking the tip of Santana's breast into her mouth with such a practiced ease. Sucked and licked and nipped with such a tender perfection that, already, Santana was seeing stars.

Brittany was too fucking good at that.

The fingers in her hair tugged, urged Brittany up and away from her current focus because her attention was demanded elsewhere. Their lips crashed, the eagerness and the raw _need_ growing exponentially with each passing second. Zealous hands explored and groped and held on tight as they pulled each other's bodies impossibly closer. A single knee slipped between both of the blonde's and pressed up, and through the thin material of her black leggings, Brittany felt everything.

"San," she gasped against her lover's lips, pale hands quickly dropping to the Latina's hips in hopes of keeping them from rolling into her again. It was too much. Another few touches like that and Brittany would surely hit the ground. "Bed. Now."

Santana just shook her head, fusing her lips to the blonde's once more and smirking, just slightly, as her thigh pressed up and ground into Brittany's burning need. "Here."

"The floor?" Brittany queried breathlessly, hardly able to get the words out with the brunette's lips attached so feverishly to her own and that prone thigh teasing her so deliciously. "What about the carpet?"

"We'll clean it later."

Well alright then.

Both women dropped to their knees almost instantly, clawing frantically, but still with a certain grace and care, at what was left of each other's clothes. Brittany now lay flat on her back with Santana nestled between her thighs, plump lips attached themselves to that spot at the base of Brittany's neck, felt her thrumming pulse beneath her tongue while their bodies arched and rolled together.

Pale fingers were fisted in the dark, thick hair at the back of Santana's head, holding her close while dancer's hips bucked up with desperation. The Latina could feel her girl's arousal, the wet, hot need exuding from between Brittany's legs. And as the minutes passed, she could no longer hold back her need to touch and please and satisfy.

"Wait here, baby," Santana whispered softly, placing a few more wet kisses to the side of the blonde's neck before lifting her head. "I need to wash my hands."

Brittany's response was immediate.

"No, don't leave," she whined, clutching tightly to Santana's shoulders and wrapping her legs around her waist, creating a vice which the Latina wasn't even eager to escape.

"But Britt, my fingers are a mess."

"Then don't use your fingers."

Bright blue eyes were ready and waiting when chocolate orbs found them, curious and questioning. They'd been together for months. They admittedly loved each other, would do anything for one another. And sure, they'd had a lot of sex… _A lot_ of sex. But they'd never done _that_ before. It wasn't something that had been completely ignored. But whenever the idea was brought up, one or the other always found some reason not to do it. They were both nervous, not so admittedly, but it was obvious. Neither one had ever given or received _that_, and truthfully, Brittany wasn't sure she'd even know where to begin. But she wanted. She needed. And she trusted Santana. Trusted her like she trusted no one else. If there was anyone she would be this vulnerable for, it was her Latina.

"Brittany…" Santana looked just as skeptical and nervous as Brittany felt. "Are you sure?"

Honestly? No. Brittany wasn't _really_ sure. How could anyone _really_ be sure? But it was just like having sex for the first time. She'd been a virgin the first time Santana touched her, and she'd been immeasurably nervous then. But the reward was perfect. What came from her bravery had made dealing with the nerves so totally worth it that the blonde would never regret her decision. And she was sure that this would see the same outcome.

"I'm sure, San," she whispered, lifting one hand to gently cup Santana's cheek, her blue thumb brushing lightly over one perfectly sculpted cheekbone. "I trust you." She did. Fully. With everything she had. "I want this." And as if to clarify, Brittany lifted her hips, pushed her glistening center up into Santana's pelvis and moaned softly. It took all the strength she had not to let her naked lashes flutter closed, but she managed to maintain eye contact. "I want you… Please…"

Santana was nodding her head, unable to stop herself because, _fuck_, she wanted this too. So she nodded, unable to say anything, but pressed her lips once, twice, three times to Brittany's before shimmying slowly down the blonde's body. She laid slow, soft kisses down the dancer's toned body, feathered her lips over any patch of fair skin that wasn't tainted red or purple or green.

With a deep breath, the Latina finally settled herself between Brittany's legs, taking a few seconds to consider how best to go about this. It was strange, being this close to her girlfriend's sex, seeing with such unobstructed and perfect clarity. She didn't know what to expect. Wasn't even sure what to do first, but as she inhaled deeply once again, the subtle, sweet scent of Brittany's arousal caught her nose and washed away all the doubt. It was just another way of loving her girl. Just another way to make her feel good, feel _perfect,_ and to express all the overwhelming feelings she held for the woman she loved.

She could totally do this.

Her slender arms looped themselves beneath Brittany thighs, her hands coming up and around to mold to the blonde's hips, fingers holding tight to pale skin. One more deep breath, and she leaned forward just enough to press her lips to slick folds.

At the first touch, Brittany threw her head back, either unaware or uncaring of the hard floor beneath her head and of the bright blue paint she was surely rubbing into the carpet. Holy shit… She hadn't known what to expect, but she was almost certain that this was going to be far better than anything she ever could have imagined.

She felt Santana become more confident with her kisses, luscious lips placing warm, firm kisses up and down her slit. In their bed, Brittany never failed to find something to hold onto when the Latina made her feel this way. The sheets. The headboard. The pillow. But now, there was nothing beneath her but short carpet, and she had no idea what to do with her hands. All she _could_ do was reach down and tangle her fingers into Santana's hair.

"San," she breathed almost inaudibly, blue eyes hidden behind clamed lids as a gasp passed through her slightly swollen pink lips.

So suddenly, the temperature in the room skyrocketed as a careful tongue touched her heat, snuck its way between glistening folds and dragged all the way up. The sweet, quiet breaths and gasps Brittany had been emitting before vanished completely, replaced by an unstoppable moan that vibrated inside her throat and off the walls of their living room.

Encouraged by the blonde's verbal responses, Santana knew she was doing just fine, and dared to go further. Dared to experiment. This was a rather strange sensation, but not at all an unpleasant one. The area her fingers were so familiar with was now new again, and her mouth was so eager to explore, to rediscover every secret spot that sent the blonde into a fit of moans and whimpers. Her tongue settled at the top of Brittany's slit, paused a few seconds, then flicked firmly over the swollen bundle of nerves she knew was desperate for attention.

Brittany gasped loudly, hips fighting against Santana's hands to cant upwards in search of that electric touch. Fuck, she hadn't been a virgin for a while now, but it was like starting fresh. She loved Santana's fingers, cherished them and considered them precious. But Santana's tongue… Well, holy shit.

"Right there, San," she moaned, fingers that had only been holding on before now pressing desperately into the Latina's scalp, urging her closer. Begging for more. "Please."

Santana listened. Again, her tongue swiped over Brittany's clit. Once, twice, before her lips closed over the humming bundle and sucked, using her tongue and teeth with such careful precision to tease and pleasure the blonde into oblivion.

Brittany couldn't help but cry out loudly. This was so unlike _everything_ else. So goddamn perfect that she wasn't sure she'd ever even be able to describe the sensation with words. It didn't matter that Santana had never done this before. It didn't matter that she was experienced, because neither was Brittany. And because they were _Brittany _and _Santana_. Everything they ever did together would always be nothing less than perfect. This was no exception.

"Oh my god, Santana," she moaned, her dancer's hips still attempting to roll up into the contact, desperate for more pressure, more _anything._

Again, Santana listened. This time no plea was needed. Santana had always been able to read Brittany like an open book, and she was pleased to find that their current position did not hinder that. A few more swipes of her tongue over that precious nub she was thoroughly reacquainted with, and Santana began to move lower. Her lips showered kisses over wet folds, slowly circled Brittany's waiting entrance before slowing dipping her tongue into the center of all that slick heat.

That clever tongue continued to do wonders, slid slowly but deeply into her core and Brittany couldn't help but thrust up, this time with enough force to resist Santana's hold on her. The movement urged the brunette's tongue further, deeper into all that heat and Santana moaned. She never could have imagined what it would be like to be inside her girlfriend this way, but it was amazing. She paused a moment, felt Brittany's tight walls clench around the slick muscle, attempt to pull her in further, and _fuck_, it was so perfect. Every day, Santana felt as though there was no way she could ever love Brittany more. But every day, something happened to prove her wrong. Today, that something was this.

"Uhnn, San," Brittany groaned, once again pushing her hips up, completely overwhelmed by the prone muscle that was currently still between her aching walls. "Please." It was a well-known fact between the two of them that that was Brittany's favorite word during sex. She simply couldn't help it.

_Fuck the paint_, Santana though as her left hand slid over, so eager to give everything that Brittany asked for, even if neither one of them knew exactly what that was. Her thumb tucked itself between slick, protruding folds. Found Brittany's swollen, throbbing clit and drew quick, firm circles into it.

"Fuck, Santana!"

Even with her tongue pushed so deeply inside her girlfriend, Santana couldn't hold back that satisfied smirk. Brittany never said fuck. Had said it maybe six times in their time together. So dragging it from those perfect pink lips now felt like the greatest accomplishment.

With all the best parts being attended to, Santana quickly lost herself in thoroughly making love to her girlfriend. Her thumb never let up, rotated between firm circles and quick, light flicks to Brittany's click. All the while, her tongue never stopped moving. The moist muscle pulled out slowly, left the dancer whimpering beneath her in its absence, before plunging it quickly back in. Over and over again. In, out, in, out, and Brittany was positively squirming.

"San… baby, I'm close."

She could tell. Like a book, Santana always said. Strong thighs were quivering on either side of her head and Brittany's hips were practically uncontrollable beneath her pressing hand. The tight walls she so eagerly occupied were nearing their breaking point as Santana's tongue continued to explore them, pressing from one side to the other, twisting and bending and filling her to bursting.

"I love you, Britt," she whispered quickly into moist flesh, moaning with her lips pressed so affectionately to her girlfriend's burning core. "Come for me."

The vibrations from Santana's words, the pressing of her thumb against her throbbing clit, and the final plunge of that goddamn perfect tongue back into hungry walls sent Brittany hurdling over the edge.

She gasped loudly, fingers fisting in Santana's hair as her body rocked and writhed beneath the Latina's expert ministrations. Ripples of pleasure overwhelmed her system, had ever synapse firing at once as her tight walls clamped and spasmed around Santana's tongue. It seemed to last forever, but not nearly long enough. Sweat glistened on her fair skin, breathy whimpers and a single "Santana!" falling so beautifully from her swollen lips as her orgasm hit her not once, but twice.

Santana eagerly helped Brittany ride out her climax, her tongue continuing to pump rhythmically in and out of her writhing body until her mouth was flooded with the younger woman's sweet juices. She couldn't help but moan again, not at all hesitant to lap up the evidence of the love they'd just made and let Brittany's perfect, unique flavor invade her system. It was more intoxicating than any liquor she'd ever tried and the fire that settled in her pit because of it was so very welcomed.

Once Brittany had relaxed, Santana finally removed herself entirely from the blonde. Her wet lips laid a few tender kisses to Brittany's equally moist inner thigh, before she sat up and wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand.

"C'mere," Brittany whispered, still attempting to catch her breath as she reached up for the woman who never failed to give her everything.

Santana happily gave in, occupying the blonde's arms with a tired grace and allowing her body to simply melt over Brittany's, like butter on toast.

"San, that… that was…"

It seemed as though Brittany was still to breathless to complete the sentence, or else at far too big of a loss to express exactly what it was to her. But either, it had Santana grinning like a fool as she nestled head against Brittany's shoulder, burying her face in the warm crook of her neck.

"That good, huh?" she responded softly with an obvious note of cockiness. And in the aftermath, it seemed as though she simply couldn't keep her lips off her lover. She laid slow kisses to the column of Brittany's neck, drunk off the dancer's many wonderful flavors as the sweet and salty taste of her sweat joined the list.

"You have no idea."

Minutes passed with the two lying just like that, wrapped up in each other's arms, limbs tangled and bodies pressed so closely together that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. And in the tenderness of the silence, Santana wondered how she got so lucky. How someone as perfect and sweet and innocent as Brittany could have chosen her. How someone like Brittany could ever possibly _love_ her. It was astonishing, really, and she hoped that the day would never come when she'd have to break Brittany's heart.

It would surely kill her.

"I love you, too, you know."

Santana's thoughts were silenced by the blonde's sweet, familiar words, and she pressed another loving kiss to the moist skin beneath her lips.

"And I really love my gift, San."

"I'm glad, baby."

Another slow minute passed and Santana pondered everything that just happened, thinking for a second about how desperately they needed a shower, how _desperately_ she needed some sort of reprieve to the burning ache between her own thighs, and how silly it was that Brittany hadn't just rinsed off the goddamn paint brush.

"Hang on a second," she suddenly said, the softness of the moments after their lovemaking gone from her voice as it all started making sense.

"Brittany, why did you insist on painting with your fingers?"

"I told you, San. I dropped the brush."

"But you could have just rinsed it off. That's what the water was for."

The silence confirmed her suspicions.

"Brittany Pierce! You planned this, didn't you?"

Brittany only grinned and wrapped herself more tightly around her girlfriend.

"You'll never know."


End file.
